I am a 25 year old butcheyfemme queer with rubbish on my mind and sparkles everywhere else
Straight Man A
Pretty Lesbians (honest)
And so it is my final day. I am very gutted about this and as I live in fear of death continuously I of course think I will never see this place again. Now this would be sad, more sad than were I to die an untimely death. I mean where else could I witness a hoard of at least one hundred lesbians in one room appreciating literature? I mean I am not sure I can even imagine 100 non lesbians in a room in Aberdeen appreciating literature. Well that’s unfair because now that I think about it, I really wasn’t there to simply savour the words of a great gay, but also to feast my hungry eyes on the assortment of lesbians present. This was to be final pussy muncher hit before I returned to the land of invisble lesbians. I went to see my author of choice, Sarah Waters read and answer sleazy questions from desperados with no chance of a date. I was very skeptical about the people that would be in attendance at this event, hosted in Freedom, a mainly batty boy bar, that oozes trend, not to mention Pete Burns. I was quite repulsed by Pete doing his fairy turn in the form of art. Who really needs to see those collogin implants up close as he masquerades in a frock still answering to his builder’s name? I purchased my ticket and slipped down the stairs to be greeted by pretty people. I can say this time around that I was not the most beautiful person in the bar. I may well have been in the top 20 but there were a host of beautiful people, sipping (and grimacing) on free wine Only one per token mind. We booked a couple of massive seats which
ensured we would see nothing past the lesbian hair which goes up or out or both and moaned about the price of a drink (£7 for two). The room swelled pretty quickly and our toes were trodden on til they were hamburger meat but I caught an eye or 6 as I glanced around the room, in disbelief of the actual
good looking ladies. I think I just about heard Sarah speak over the bellows of "Louder, speak louder" from the foreign hecklers at the back. There were lesbians passing out on every corner due to a severe lack of air conditioning. I imagine what she read was divine but as I was concentrating
on not joining the fainted few I didn’t really notice. Afterwards I stood in a slow moving queue to get my books signed for myself and Queen of Fun as Straight Man A lost himself in the sofa and tried to put on lesbians’ scarves. He was quite taken with one black and white get up whose tassels had probably entertained in more ways than one over the years. I do wonder about that boy. I was chatted up I the queue which was great, or maybe it was friendly chit chat but I’m saying that she wanted to play after hours. I did not. Sarah signed my books but I got the impression she wanted to leave her mark on me with more than just a pen. I think when she said to me "Fee I wanna take you home and do bad things to you" gave the game away. Personally my idea of bad things is the ironing and eating death by chocolate without puking. So I was not going to let that happen. And alas, my last evening of fanny fuckers was over. I felt the tears welling up but they were forgotten about as soon as I got to Tescos. Food cures all as does finding Britney merchandise in places you least expect, ie on the bottom shelf of party things in Tescos. I bought a cardboard Britney box complete with comb and mirror set. How classy am I? Very. And clearly the chick at the checkout thought so too. When I slammed down my Britney, smiling at the four pictures of her, the checkout girl met my eye and smiled and offered me her number just as Straight Man A approached. She whipped it back, clearly mistaking S M A as my boyfriend, or me as his boyfriend, I’m not quite sure. She loved me. Actually I think she thought I was simple. Pretty accurate so far.
And that was that, my time in London is almost over. I was going to grace Popstarz with my more than important presense tonight but six weeks worth of fatigue is really setting in. How this is possible having been in bed most nights pre 10pm, I do not know. It’s an age thing I guess. And so I think it
will be a trip to our oh so posh wine bar down the road for me and the flatmates, like the classy ladies and gents that we really are.
Last minute shopping
Fingersmith by Sarah Waters
Bonnie Tyler (ahem)
The slush pile
People not appreciating small nice gestures toward them
Curry and garlic smelling turds
People who have the ability to make me physically nauseous
3/08/2002 03:51:00 PM
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